


The Cowboy And Peril Affair

by Tarma_Hartley



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Comedy, Inspired by strivia's AWESOME manip!, Love, M/M, Men admitting thier feelings for each other, Men in love, Romance, Some humour, action and adventure, sappy romance, spies in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 11:58:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11646090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarma_Hartley/pseuds/Tarma_Hartley
Summary: Napoleon and Illya are on a mission to bring down one of THRUSH's most notorious agents but there is another matter that lies between them and that is of the heart...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [This was really hard they did not want to](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/311355) by Strivia. 



> Inspired by strivia's AWESOME manip! *link: http://strivia.tumblr.com/post/141843365330/this-was-really-hard-they-did-not-want-to*
> 
> I started this one nearly four months ago and it grew from the short, sappy oneshot I'd intended into something completely different! *But still sappy. ^)^ * The original title was "Softly, Sweetly" but the title didn't really fit once I'd finished so I called it "The Cowboy And Peril Affair" instead which I thought suited it much better!
> 
> Hope you enjoy! ^)^
> 
> I'll be definitely editing more on this later; always room for improvement!
> 
> The manip itself is a TV series one but I set it in the 2015 TMFUverse.
> 
> Russian from bing translator.

_July 30, 1964  
Somewhere on the East side  
Abandoned warehouse  
New York City, New York  
10:30 P.M.  
  
_ Napoleon Solo and his partner, Illya Kuryakin, stood in the shadows of the abandoned warehouse, watching and waiting in silence. They were pressed up against the far wall that overlooked the left hand side of the dilapidated building and Illya could feel Napoleon take out his handkerchief and mop his face every now and then before putting it back in his pocket.  
  
It was hot and even the stiff breeze that was blowing that night wasn't enough to take the edge off completely and Illya couldn't help but to feel a bit put out about it.  
  
His face twisted into a scowl as he looked hard into the gloom, a little more aware of his partner's presence than he wished to be. _Leave it to Waverly to assign us to this take-down. I'd much rather be in a nice, cool villa than in this godforsaken place though I can't really complain about the company._ He had to chuckle at that, despite his discomfort and annoyance.  
  
They'd received a tip from an informant earlier that day-and confirmed by Alexander Waverly, the Head of U.N.C.L.E.-that THRUSH was in the area and had plans to meet at a certain warehouse near Central Park to pick up a shipment from Ashton Myers, a known weapons and drug smuggler.  
  
According to the informant, the shipment was to be delivered to Dr. Pembroke, the head of THRUSH's biological warfare department, this evening at this location.  
  
They had arrived here a couple of hours before and now were waiting, with somewhat baited breath, for the delivery to take place. So far there was absolute quiet and Napoleon couldn't help but wonder if the informant had the date and time wrong, the wrong place, a combination of all three or that THRUSH, somehow, had found out about their stakeout and had moved the entire operation elsewhere.  
  
“You seem agitated, Napoleon,” Illya's whispered from out of the darkness somewhere beside him.  
  
Napoleon nodded, very conscious of his partner's proximity to him, his eyes narrowing, staring hard into the gloom.  
  
“I am. There's something not _quite_ right here but I don't know exactly what that might be.”  
  
“Maybe the informant got the information wrong.” Illya's voice was matter-of-fact.  
  
Napoleon could feel his partner move forward slightly before coming back, pressing his back up against the wall.  
  
“I already thought of that but shouldn't we have received some kind of confirmation of this?” Napoleon bit his lip, his mind whirling with possibilities.  
  
“Maybe we're dealing with a double agent.” Illya stared out into the darkness, trying to ignore his racing heart and keep his mind on their mission instead of on Napoleon.  
  
Napoleon considered this and then shook his head. “Possibly but I don't think so.” His eyes darted around the dark nooks and crannies of the crumbling building, alert to any sound, his body tense and Illya watched him in silence, his mouth suddenly dry.  
  
“Waverly confirmed it and I highly doubt that he would knowingly fall into a trap or believe incorrect information without looking into it first. He's always keenly aware of everything having to do with a mission. No, there's something _else_ going on here and THRUSH is at the beginning, and end, of it, I'm sure of it.”  
  
“As they always are.” Illya's voice was dry and Napoleon couldn't help but chuckle at his partner's tone.  
  
“True enough.”  
  
The two men lapsed into silence once more and nothing was said between them for some time. They waited awhile more and were about ready to pack up and leave when they heard the sound of a delivery truck driving up to the front of the warehouse.  
  
“Что такоеIllya-?!” (“What the?!”) Illya's startled oath wasn't lost on Napoleon, who looked just as surprised as he when they heard the loud noise of the truck driving up toward the building. Their eyes flickered over to the left hand side where the sound was coming from, intermittent flashes of light that seemed to dance over the crumbling walls like fireflies. Illya was about to say something but Napoleon put his index finger to his lips, shaking his head.  
  
Illya snapped his mouth shut, his eyes straining to look into the gloomy darkness to see what was going on, his eyes eventually adjusting as Napoleon's had earlier. Presently, a door opened in the side of the building and a truck drove inside, stopping once it reached the middle of the warehouse and parking.  
  
Napoleon got out his communicator, flipped it open and whispered a few words into it before he closed it, putting it back into his breast pocket. Illya watched him in silence and he was surprised to discover that his heart was beating faster; he couldn't help but wonder why this was. While it was true that he was pressed up against Napoleon, hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder against the wall, but that _shouldn't_ have caused this odd feeling, should it?  
  
And why was he having such a strange... _attraction_... to Napoleon when he hadn't before? And why _now_?  
  
_Don't be a fool, Kuryakin,_ he admonished himself, giving his head a hard shake, Napoleon's eyebrow raising curiously as he glanced at him but made no comment before he returned his attention to the left wall. _Keep your foolish mind on the mission where it belongs. Napoleon doesn't have any feelings at all for you except as a friend and trusted partner.  
  
_ A loud crash brought his wandering thoughts immediately back to the present and he watched in tense silence, along with Napoleon, as the noise stopped just outside the door. They could make out the door moving slightly and could hear the rusty hinges protesting loudly as it was forced open, perhaps for the first time in decades.  
  
“Get ready, Illya,” Napoleon murmured, his eyes flickering over to look at him before darting back to the door which was loudly creaking open and they both could see men dressed in black clothing start to come slowly through it. “Anytime now...”  
  
“I _am_ ready, Cowboy,” he muttered under his breath, his body tense. He wasn't sure exactly _why_ he was feeling these very odd feelings and it bothered him since he was having a hard time keeping his mind on the mission. He knew that Napoleon could also sense that he was distracted although he hoped that the reason _wouldn't_ be so obvious.  
  
Luck was definitely _not_ on Illya Kuryakin's side this evening. Napoleon turned his head to look at him, an eyebrow raised with a rather curious expression on his face, his sky blue eyes staring at him in consternation.  
  
_Oh, hell...!_ Illya cursed silently.  
  
“What's the matter with you, Peril?” Napoleon's voice was inquiring, almost as if he were worried that something was wrong.  
  
“ _Nothing_!” Illya hissed back, his face turning brick red with embarrassment.  
  
Napoleon frowned. “You sure? You seem...” He paused a moment. “... _distracted_...”  
  
Illya gritted his teeth, wishing that he would simply just drop the subject. “I'm fine! Keep your eyes on the door and never mind me!”  
  
Napoleon shrugged. “All right, if you say so, Peril.”  
  
“I _do_ say so, Cowboy, so keep your mind on the _mission!_ ”  
  
Napoleon muttered something under his breath-Illya supposed that it was something rude although he couldn't _quite_ make out the phrase-before they returned to look at the door which was slowly opening, the ancient, rusted door shrieking in protest.  
  
They watched breathlessly as men dressed in black came in, single file, looking around as they walked into the room, guns held at the ready in their hands. A large man, dressed in a tuxedo, stood waiting at the far end of the wall, his hands clasped behind his back. Napoleon and Illya were surprised to see him; they hadn't heard him come in and couldn't help wondering if he had already been in the building before they arrived since they hadn't seen him until now.  
  
He appeared bored and they could see his condescending expression from where they stood in the gloom; both men held their breath as more men appeared and came in, holding small boxes in their hands followed by a larger man pushing a dolly, a large, wooden box resting on it.  
  
_“Did you get it?” t_ he man asked, his voice condescending and rude. The man in black appeared unruffled though they could see a muscle in his face twitch.  
  
_“Of_ course, _Dr. Pembroke.”_ The man's voice was smooth, betraying no disquiet which seemed to annoy the good doctor somewhat. “We _have it_ all _right here...”_  
  
Dr. Pembroke sniffed. _“About time, Myers,”_ he grated out, “ _we should have had this months ago.”_  
  
_“Perhaps you should ask your previous contact about_ that. _”_ The man smiled wolfishly, his fingers lying on the butt end of a Mauser pistol that he wore at his waist. _“There are proper channels to go through, Doctor.”_  
  
Pembroke glared at him. _“THRUSH-”_ he began but Myers interrupted him.  
  
_“THRUSH contacted_ me, _Doctor, after_ your _previous informant was, shall we say,_ retired _?”_ A nasty smile spread over Myers' face as he turned to walk toward the men who were busily bringing in wooden crates, throwing over his shoulder, “ _So spare me the prattle... Doctor...”_  
  
Pembroke's hand clenched into a fist. It was clear to Napoleon and Illya, witnesses to this exchange, that Myers was enjoying baiting Pembroke who really _wasn't_ known for his thick skin. In fact, his pride had often led to his undoing and even THRUSH had been known to reign him in from time to time, reminding him who it was that he worked for.  
  
Napoleon could see Pembroke's back stiffen until he was ramrod straight Myers' gibe had hit home and he was annoyed since he couldn't refute it. If there was one thing you could say about Pembroke, he knew his limits although he didn't like to be reminded of that fact.  
  
Napoleon moved slowly. Illya watched in fascinated silence as his hand reached up to his breast pocket, taking out the pen-shaped communicator he'd put in it and, with the same, deliberately slow movement, twisting it so the antenna popped up from the top, and leaned over slightly, holding it to his lips.  
  
“Get ready,” he murmured into the communicator, “the exchange is going to happen _any_ minute now...”  
  
“Hopefully that fool Myers won't push his luck too far with Pembroke. The good doctor is not known for his patience...” Illya fretted beside Napoleon, watching with anxious eyes as the exchange took place.  
  
“Or forgiveness, either, for that matter.” Napoleon's never once left the group of men. “I hope not; I'd hate to have to ask Waverly for a group to come and pick up what's left of him.”  
  
“Charming.”  
  
“Quiet, Peril.”  
  
Illya glared at him but made no other comment as they continued to watch the crates being brought in, one by one.  
  
Napoleon was silent for many moments afterward and Illya couldn't help his eyes flickering over to his partner and remaining there. Thoughts and feelings kept tumbling over one another as he stood there, his eyes locked right onto Napoleon with that strange flip-flop feeling in the pit of his stomach.  
  
He couldn't help but wonder if he was coming down with the flu or if he was lovesick but it really didn't matter either way for it was annoying and the timing couldn't have been worse. Myers was meeting Doctor Pembroke here in order to exchange a biological weapon that was taking place right before their very eyes and here he was behaving like an adolescent with a crush!  
  
_Concentrate, Illya, CONCENTRATE!_ he told himself sternly, forcing his gaze back to the group of black-clad men who were putting down the wooden crates right in front of Pembroke and off of Napoleon. _This mission is important and you need to concentrate on what you're supposed to be doing!_

From their place of concealment, they could see he looked at them like a hissing viper. He wasn't pleased, that much was certain, and coupled with the fact that Myers was openly mocking him made his temper even more waspish.  
  
_“I_ trust _that you've given me_ ALL _the components?”_ Pembroke's voice was positively peevish as he looked at the large pile of wooden crates that were in the center of the room.  
_  
“Of course, Pembroke,”_ Myers said mildly, his arm sweeping out in a large arc around him,“ _all of the components are in those crates. There's enough there for two hundred weapons, a fact that I am sure THRUSH will no doubt appreciate?”_ He smiled nastily.  
  
Pembroke huffed. _“I'm sure they will,”_ he snarled, glaring at Myers who looked pertly back at him, _“you can get the remainder of your_ ...payment... _in the morning.”_ He practically spit the words out.  
  
Myers grinned, bowing low from the waist as Pembroke thrust the thick manilla envelope at him. _“Then our business is complete.”_ He tucked the envelope in his trench-coat inside pocket and stuck out his hand, Pembroke pointedly ignoring the gesture.  
  
Myers laughed as he took back his hand, unruffled by Pembroke's blatant display of rudeness; it appeared to the two U.N.C.L.E. Agents that he seemed to be more amused than angry. “ _Don't be such a spoilsport, Doctor! Think of it this way: thanks to me, I've saved you months of inconvenience and a mountain of bureaucratic red tape to have exactly the parts you need to make your weapon..._ whatever _it is.”_ He turned away mockingly. _“You'd think you'd be more grateful.”_  
  
From the dark look on Pembroke's face, it was clear what he thought of it but made no reply as he walked over to the crates, stabbing a finger angrily at the first one nearest to him. A black-clad THRUSH agent hurried over, holding a crowbar in his hand.  
  
_“Open it!”_ Pembroke barked and the man hastened to obey.  
  
Napoleon and Illya pressed closer to the wall, trying to keep hidden as much as they could in the shadows, watched in tense silence as the man pried open the cover of the first crate, the sound echoing throughout the building.  
  
Myers turned to watch him, a curious expression on his face as Pembroke pawed through the shreds of paper that filled the crates, his clenched jaw the only outward sign of his smoldering anger, his hazel eyes darting quickly over the parts that lay neatly in the crate in sealed plastic packages.  
  
_“Everything seems to be in order.”_ Pembroke looked up, his eyes meeting Myers'.  
  
_“As I said.”_ Myers' smile was wolfish as Pembroke whirled away from him, barking out orders to the black-clad men that stood in a semi-circle around him. _“Pleasure doing business with you. Doctor. Pembroke.”_  
  
Pembroke ignored him as Myers laughed, turning away and walking quickly toward the door, pulling his black fedora down in order to conceal his face.  
  
Napoleon, never taking his eyes off of him once, slowly went for his weapon, his fingers wrapping around it and raised it, with the same agonizing slowness, until it was level with his chest, his thumb slowly pulling back on the hammer. Illya did the same and they waited for a few moments, each watching with undivided attention.  
  
“Just a little more...” he heard Napoleon murmur into his communicator and Illya was startled to see it by his lips. He'd concentrated so hard on his gun that he'd completely missed the communicator. He gave his head a shake and continued to watch the action unfolding before them.  
  
“A little more...”  
  
The men had finished with the first crate and had gone to open the others, each containing the same parts in their plastic packages, that the first crate held.  
  
“Perfect. Now, we'll give them a moment to open the last crate and then...”  
  
Another loud wooden sound filled the warehouse as the last crate was opened, Pembroke looking down with savage satisfaction tinged with annoyance.  
  
Illya's body was tense as he leaned forward slightly, keeping to the shadows as he lifted his weapon to his chest with the same slowness that Napoleon had.  
  
“Any minute now, Peril...” he heard Napoleon murmur as he shifted slightly, moving slowly down the inside wall.  
  
He rolled his eyes at the tone of Napoleon's voice but remained silent as he moved with his partner closer to the men who were oblivious to their presence. At least for now.  
  
_“Get these out of here,”_ Pembroke barked, his black trench-coat swirling about his legs as he swiftly turned, waving his hand toward the crates. _“And move quickly! We don't have much time!_ ”  
  
“What are you waiting for, Cowboy?” Illya's loud whisper was peevish and he was fidgeting with impatience.  
  
“Patience, Peril, patience,” Napoleon murmured, “we don't want to give the game away just yet...”  
  
“What is it, exactly, that you're waiting for?”  
  
“We need a little more time for Agent 88 to get this all down on film; he just radioed in that he's getting it down on film but needs a few more moments in order to get it recorded.” Napoleon's eyes flickered over to his partner, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. “It never hurts to get a little extra in case it's needed.”  
  
Illya sighed. “I guess not though I do wish that we'd just move in and get them now while they're both here. It makes more sense to me that way...”  
  
“Perhaps but we're almost ready. I'm just waiting for confirmation from Agent 88; it won't be too much longer now...”  
  
Illya highly doubted it but he kept his peace as he, along with Napoleon, continued to watch the THRUSH agents continuing replacing the lids on all of the crates, the loud banging noise, fortunately, covering the soft beep of Napoleon's communicator as Agent 88 radioed that he had it all down on film and could begin the sting operation as soon as they were ready.  
  
Napoleon nodded and waited for a few moments more until the last crate lid had been secured and they began loading them onto dollies, turning to make their way out of the door.  
  
_Better late than never,_ Napoleon thought, his lips curving into a smile. _Count of five and we'll close the net.  
  
5....  
  
_ He could hear the other U.N.C.L.E. agents close to him getting into position and he knew that they were watching with the same, intent scrutiny that both he and Illya were, waiting for the right moment. _  
  
4...  
  
Not long now. Patience, Napoleon, patience!  
  
3...  
_  
Illya fidgeted beside him, wondering when they were going to get this over with and capture both Myers, Pembroke and the other THRUSH agents that were present. _  
  
2...  
  
Come on, Cowboy! How much longer do you wish to wait?!  
  
1...  
  
_ There was a moment of tense silence and Illya watched with growing impatience. If they didn't act soon, they would lose not only the chance to net Pembroke and Myers-two people that were on U.N.C.L.E.'s Most Wanted list-but they would also lose out on the opportunity to get their hands on the biological weapon parts that were in the crates.  
_  
We need to destroy those things; the sooner, the better! We don't want to lose this chance!  
  
_ Time seemed to plod at a snail's pace as they waited. Illya held his breath and was about to open his mouth to say something when...  
  
“NOW!” Napoleon cried out, startling Illya with its brusque suddenness as he leaped from their place of concealment, a startled Illya following close behind, running toward Myers and Pembroke.  
  
“What the-?” they heard Myers say before both Myers and Pembroke froze in their tracks when there was a flash, both men crying out and lifting their arms to shield their eyes from the brilliant light that seemed to come out of the darkness in a blinding flash.  
  
“U.N.C.L.E.!” Pembroke cried out, whirling around to face Myers as U.N.C.L.E. Agents emerged from every corner of the warehouse, their weapons drawn, racing toward the stunned and confused THRUSH agents who milled around uncertainly for a few moments before the drew their own weapons and returned the fire.  
  
Myers had a stunned expression on his face, as if he couldn't believe this was really happening but Pembroke's was enraged, his face turning three shades of purple as he marched over to where Myers stood, grabbing his arm in steely fingers.  
  
“You miserable bastard!” he cried, shaking him so hard that his teeth rattled. “You said that no one knew that we were meeting here tonight!”  
  
“I...” Myers stuttered, completely taken aback by the sudden turn of events while gunfire echoed throughout the warehouse as both THRUSH and U.N.C.L.E. Agents battled it out. “I... how could...?”  
  
“Well, we have a warehouse full of U.N.C.L.E. Agents that says otherwise!” Pembroke lashed out. “You dirty cheat!”  
  
Myers' face turned red with embarrassment that was swiftly turning into anger. There were many things that he was prepared to put up with from the temperamental Pembroke but this insult apparently wasn't one of them.  
  
“I didn't do anything underhanded, Pembroke!” he shot back, his hand tightening into a fist and taking a swing at Pembroke who dodged it handily and threw out a haymaker of his own that just missed Myers by an inch. “I got those parts as requested; it's not _my_ fault that _you_ screwed up on _your_ end!” He kicked out, landing a stinging blow on Pembroke's ankle; he cried out in pain, hopping around on one foot and cursing Myers roundly. “ _You_ were supposed to ensure that the meeting place was secure!”  
  
“Bloody prat!” Pembroke's roar of apoplectic rage was nearly drowned out as the sound of gunfire echoed throughout the warehouse, THRUSH agents dropping to the ground and lying still. “This is all **YOUR** doing!”  
  
“Damn your hide, Pembroke! Don't lay **YOUR** failures at **MY** door!”  
  
It soon became apparent that resistance was futile and the remaining THRUSH agents dropped their weapons and raised their hands in abject surrender before they were quickly rounded up and marched outside.  
  
Napoleon and Illya watched with satisfaction as U.N.C.L.E. agents rounded up the last of the THRUSH men and looked over to where Pembroke and Myers were standing, screaming insults at the top of their lungs at each other, seemingly oblivious of the chaos unfolding around them. They were so intent on each other that they hadn't noticed that their men had been rounded up and marched outside, along with the impounded vehicle which had been driven outside.  
  
“Should we interrupt them?” Illya inquired as they watched.  
  
Napoleon grinned, crossing his arms and gesturing with his gun at Myers and Pembroke. “Only if they pull weapons on each other.”  
  
Illya chuckled as he turned his attention once more to the two combatants who were doing their level best to pound each other into the ground, exchanging blows and loud curses. The remaining U.N.C.L.E. Agents were also looking on and it was plain that they, also, found the situation amusing as they strained their ears to catch the next verbal volley.  
  
“Bastard!” Pembroke lashed out, catching Myers on the chin and the other man staggered back a bit, dazed from the blow.  
  
“Blackguard!” Myers wasn't taking it lying down and he stepped forward, landing a hard blow on Pembroke's chin, causing the other man's knees to buckle.  
  
“You'll pay for this, Myers! THRUSH will find out what you did and then -” He glared up at him from his knee, panting hard.  
  
“Oh no, you're not going to pin the blame on me!” Myers reached into his pocket, pulling out a Mauser firearm, pointing it shakily at Pembroke. “I'll send your black soul to hell before that happens!”  
  
“I don't think that either of you will be sending anyone anywhere.” Napoleon's smooth voice fsaid close by them, both Myers and Pembroke stared in stupified surprise as he and Illya made their presence known, their weapons drawn. “You're both under arrest, gentlemen.”  
  
“You will come with us,” Illya added, his blue eyes flashing.  
  
Myers' mouth worked but no sound emerged as he suddenly swept his arm in Napoleon's direction but Illya was quicker, dodging in front of Napoleon as Myers pulled the trigger, the bullet meant to lodge in Napoleon's chest passing harmlessly through Illya's sleeve.  
  
Napoleon didn't waste a moment before he returned fire, hitting Myers square in the chest. The man had a look of pained surprise on his face before his Mauser fell to the ground from nerveless fingers and he crumpled to the ground soon afterward, turning over once before he lay still, his eyes closing.  
  
“A pity.” Illya seemed almost contrite as he walked over to where Pembroke was kneeling, an enigmatic expression on his face. “He would have been better served if he hadn't fire at you, Napoleon.”  
  
“He paid for that mistake with his life.” Napoleon's voice was hard as he walked over to stand beside his partner. “It would have behooved him to think first _before_ he acted.”  
  
“Da (Yes).” Illya looked down at the small hole that went through his sleeve and back down at Myers' corpse.  
  
“Are you alright, Peril?” Napoleon seemed anxious as he leveled his weapon at Pembroke.  
  
“I'm fine, Cowboy; don't worry about me.”  
  
“He didn't hit you, did he?”  
  
"No; the bullet passed through my sleeve. I'm alright.”  
  
“You're sure?”  
  
“Of course! Stop acting like an old woman, Napoleon!”  
  
Napoleon rolled his eyes but made no other comment as they looked down on the good doctor, still kneeling on the cement floor. Pembroke was silent as they bent over and hauled him to his feet, each man holding an arm as they slowly stood up and marched toward the door, dragging Pembroke along with them.  
  
On their way out, they passed the corpse of Myers and Pembroke stared at it as they passed by though both Napoleon and Illya were startled when they heard him murmur, “ _Serves you right, you bloody prat”_ before they continued on their way.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illya and Napoleon admit their feelings toward each other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Napoleon's reputation as a flirt precedes him.
> 
> chapter 2 of 2

_July 31, 1964  
Hallway leading to Illya's apartment  
133 Broadway Street  
New York City, New York  
1:30 A.M._  
  
Napoleon saw Illya to his apartment, despite his loud protests to the contrary. His hand lay stationery on his elbow as they walked up the two flights of stairs. Illya had remained silent for the past two hours and he couldn't help but wonder exactly _what_ it was that his partner was thinking.  
  
Napoleon sneaked a sidelong glance at him and he saw him staring at him with a most curious expression on his face; when he noticed Napoleon's blue eyes fixed on him, he blushed and looked away, biting his lip.  
  
“Are you all right, Peril?”  
  
“Fine!” Illya practically barked out the word. “I'm _fine_! _Nothing_ for _you_ to worry about, _Cowboy_!”  
  
Normally, that would have put an end to the discussion but this time Napoleon was determined that it would not be. There was something odd going on here with his partner's behavior and he was determined to get to the bottom of it.  
_  
Why does it bother me so much that he's acting so oddly?_ Napoleon bit his lip as he and Illya continued on their way. _I know damned well that its more than just work related; there's something else...  
  
_ He was also aware that his heart was beating faster the longer he looked at Illya and that also puzzled him.  
  
_What is this feeling? And why Illya?_  
  
Napoleon stopped in the deserted hallway, squaring his jaw. Illya, looking at the floor, was still walking forward when the hand on his arm stopped him and he jerked his head up to stare at him, his face pale, his cheeks brick red.  
  
“Illya, what's going on?”  
  
“What do you mean?” His voice was soft and he couldn't meet his gaze.  
  
“You know _precisely_ what I mean, Peril.” Napoleon leaned over, reaching out with his right hand, cupping his partner's chin and gently pulling it upward, making Illya lift his head to look squarely at him, Napoleon's expression sympathetic. “What's _really_ troubling you? And don't bother to deny it; we both know better than that.”  
  
Illya scowled. “You sound so sure, Cowboy,” he replied mockingly, his mouth twitching at the corners though he made no move to pull his arm away. “Are you sure that it is _you_ who should be asking _that_ question of _me_?”  
  
_Damn. He has a point.  
  
_ “Don't try to sidestep the issue, Illya.” Napoleon's tone was terse, his face angry. For some reason he was hard-pressed to explain, his partner's reticence was starting to irritate him.  
  
Illya glared at him but made no reply, mumbling something in Russian under his breath, his eyes dropping once again to look at the floor.  
  
“Cowboy...” he started to say but Napoleon cut him off, his fingers tightening on his arm.  
  
“No, Peril. This is too important-YOU'RE too important-for me to let this go.”  
  
Napoleon wasn't even aware of the words that had come out of his mouth when he saw Illya's stunned expression when he whipped his head around to look at him in utter confusion, though his eyes bespoke hope.  
  
_What...? Why is Illya looking at me like that?_  
  
“Peril?” His voice was questioning, confused.  
  
Illya's mouth worked for a bit until he was finally able to speak. “What... what... did you just say?”  
  
Napoleon's brow furrowed. Before he had a chance to open his mouth to say anything, Illya continued.  
  
“What did you mean by _“I was too important”_ for you to let this go?”  
  
"I..." Napoleon bit his lip. The words had come so effortlessly to his lips that he was stunned by the ease in which they had. He'd spent so much time in the past few months wondering exactly _what_ his feelings for his partner were and why he felt the way he did. Illya had, in the space of eleven months, become important to him not just as his partner but, as he was now discovering, something _much more_.  
  
Napoleon blinked, swallowing hard while Illya continued to look at him with that enigmatic expression on his face. He had stopped haranguing him a few moments before and just stared at him in tense silence, his eyes flickering downward to look at the carpeted hallway floor.  
  
_Illya..._  
  
Napoleon didn't allow himself any time for thought as he stepped slowly forward, his head tilting slightly to the left. Illya's eyes flickered upward just in time to see his head moving closer to his own; he licked his lips, trembling slightly as Napoleon's head came forward, dipping at the proper moment for their lips to meet in a soft, butterfly kiss. It lasted only a few moments but for the two men, time seemed to stand still before Illya stepped away, his cheeks stained red.  
  
“I never thought that you the shy, retiring type, Illya,” he teased, rubbing the tip of his nose against his partner's, chuckling softly at the dirty look Illya threw at him.  
  
“And _you_ are too much of a flirt, Cowboy,” he retorted sourly, his mouth twisting into a grimace, his eyes pained.  
  
“Touche, Peril.” Napoleon was soft as his hand slowly lifted, his fingertips brushing against his cheek with tender slowness. “But... you've captured me, Illya. I'm not sure _how_ but you have.”  
  
“Don't play games with me, Cowboy.” Illya's voice was an angry hiss, his hands clenching into fists at his side. “I'm not in the mood to be made a fool of and I-”  
  
“I'm not, Illya,” he interrupted, stung by the vehemence in his words and the hard stare he was giving him though his eyes were another matter altogether, “I promise.”  
  
_What is it I'm feeling?_ Illya was right; he was a flirt and his reputation seemed to have preceded him in this instance. He thought nothing of flirting with a pretty woman and had, in fact, done so many times over the years but, somehow, this thing, whatever it was, with Illya wasn't the same. He may have been thought to be light in love-and he supposed that he had been in times past-but this... _attraction_... to Illya was something different altogether. He didn't want him to think that he would leave him since that was the very last thing he wanted to do.  
  
_I have no idea where this might lead but I know that I want to see where it goes._  
  
Napoleon bit his lip as his fingers continued to caress Illya's cheek. “This...is all new to me, as well and I'm... having a difficult time figuring out as to what this really means but I am certain of one thing.”  
  
“And what's that?”  
  
“That I desperately want to kiss you.”  
  
Illya swallowed hard, his eyes flickering to look once more at the floor before he lifted them again, looking searchingly at him; Napoleon held his gaze, his eyes shining. He meant what he'd said and he wanted to make certain that Illya knew it, too.  
  
He wasn't sure exactly where this unexpected attraction would ultimately lead to-if anything-but he knew that he wanted to find out. If Illya were amenable, of course.  
  
“Illya?” Napoleon's voice was anxious. He had never been in the position of the courted before and he didn't like the feeling of vulnerability. After what seemed like an eternity, Illya spoke.

“Cowboy...” That was all he said but the yearning in his voice made his feelings perfectly clear.  
  
“Peril...” Napoleon's voice trailed off as Illya leaned forward, pressing his mouth hard against his, wrapping his arms around Napoleon's neck while Napoleon rested his hands lightly on Illya's hips.  
  
For many long, wonderful moments, the two embraced, Illya's tongue feathering over his in clear invitation and Napoleon opened his mouth eagerly, welcoming the intimacy as it slid into his mouth, tangling with his. They deepened the kiss, soft, muffled moans coming from their co-joined mouths as they explored each other, Napoleon's hands sliding slowly over his hips to rest lightly on the small of his back, his fingers tightening briefly before they loosened again.  
  
When they at last parted, both men had identical expressions on their faces: very, very happy though filled with wonder at the turn the events that had occurred. Iilya's eyes shone brightly and Napoleon's breath was taken away at the intensity of feeling he saw there.  
  
“Well, then, Peril, it seems that we have come to an agreement.” Napoleon chuckled softly as he rubbed the tip of his nose against Illya's.  
  
“Indeed, Cowboy. It seems that we have.”  
  
“Well then-” Napoleon gestured with his head toward the door “-why don't we take this inside where we can... _explore_ ... privately?”  
  
Illya smiled as he slowly backed Napoleon toward the door. One of his arms unwrapped from around his neck and fished in his pocket for the key which he then took out, put into the lock and twisted it to the right, smiling broadly as he heard the soft “click” as the lock opened.  
  
“I _insist_ , Cowboy,” Illya murmured facetiously, chuckling softly as he pushed Napoleon through the open door backwards, never once relinquishing his hold on him until they were inside.  
  
“Well then, it seems that I have no choice but to submit to your excellent judgement.” He leaned forward quickly, planting a soft kiss on Illya's lips that was warmly returned.  
  
“Indeed.” Illya pressed soft, butterfly kisses against his lips, reaching out toward the door, his fingertips coming into contact with the cherry wood. “As you _should_.”  
  
Napoleon laughed.  
  
“It's an offer that I _can't_ refuse, Peril.”  
  
Illya grinned wolfishly as his mouth captured Napoleon's once more and he flicked his wrist, the door slamming shut behind them with a loud bang.  
  
**.:FIN:.**

 

 


End file.
